The Fabulous Baker Boys Page #15

INT. DINING ROOM

Dark and soundless. Balloons, streamers and the other

debris of revelry cover the tables and floor like snow.

Frank is sitting at the window, drinking as he stares at

the ocean. As Jack crosses the room, he looks up.

FRANK:

Ah, well, if it isn't the lad with the golden ear.

Happy New Year, little brother.

JACK:

What're you doing down here?

FRANK:

Celebrating. Join me?

JACK:

The party's over.

FRANK:

No, you're wrong. It's just beginning.

Come on, have a drink.

Show your big brother how it's done.

Frank pours him a glass. Jack notices the bottle.

JACK:

Expensive hangover.

FRANK:

A gift. Courtesy of our courteous

hotel manager, Mr. Daniels.

(toasting Jack)

We, dear brother, are a f***ing

smash.

(nodding)

Yup. They want us back. Easter. It seems they

have this egg hunt every year. Only not for kids.

Adults. They stuff these plastic eggs with

Timexes and little certificates for free Mai Tais

and everyone has a grand time crawling around on

the front lawn. Then afterwards, they have a

dance. An egg dance. Everyone comes dressed in

a different colored shell and at the end of the

evening they crack themselves open. It's our job

to separate the yolks from the whites.

Slippery business.

Frank smiles as he takes a swallow of his drink, then

leans his head back, staring at the ceiling.

FRANK:

(continuing)

You know, I've never kissed my wife on New Year's.

Not once in twelve years.

Jack studies Frank as he stares at the ceiling.

FRANK:

The Holmby has a chandelier like that doesn't it?

With the blue glass.

Jack looks up at the chandelier.

JACK:

The Royal.

FRANK:

Right. The Royal. When's the

last time we were there?

JACK:

Couple years.

FRANK:

February?

JACK:

April.

FRANK:

Right. It's incredible how you

do that. Remember things.

JACK:

A useless talent.

FRANK:

Drove me crazy when we were kids.

The way you never looked at the music.

Miss Simpson would just play it and ...

Frank snaps his fingers.

JACK:

They were simple songs.

FRANK:

Not for me. I still have to look at the music

sometimes, you know that? Otherwise, I forget.

I just forget. But you. You never forget.

Ever.

(turning)

So how come you couldn't remember Ma's birthday?

JACK:

I told you. It's a useless talent.

Frank studies Jack a moment, then stares out at the

ocean.

FRANK:

God, the old man would've loved

this view, wouldn't he?

JACK:

Yeah.

FRANK:

I always think of him on New Year's.

How he used to pour us each half a can of beer.

Remember?

JACK:

You always threw up.

FRANK:

Yeah, and you drank yours like it was orange juice.

He loved that about you.

JACK:

He was just having fun.

FRANK:

It was like you'd passed some test,

you know?

JACK:

It was just a can of beer, Frank.

FRANK:

Yeah, but he told you things. He never told me

anything. Even though I was the oldest.

It was always you two, running off, doing things

together.

JACK:

You could've come.

FRANK:

I could've. But he didn't want

me to.

JACK:

You're making things up, Frank.

FRANK:

Maybe so.

(pause)

You ever go back there? Where it

happened.

Jack stares at the angry SEA, LOUD even through the

thick glass.

JACK:

No.

EXT. HOTEL - DAY

The next morning. Jack is sitting outside the hotel,

watching HELEN and BUD WILSON pack up the Eldorado.

The streamers, by now turned to mush, cling like oatmeal

to the car's exterior. After a moment, Frank exits with

a little bag from the gift shop and pulls out a

tiny souvenir shot glass.

FRANK:

Want one?

Jack shakes his head.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Ah well, the kids'll break a

couple anyway.

Suddenly, across the parking lot, the voices of the

newlyweds are heard.

BUD:

Give me the keys.

HELEN:

You're not going to drive.

BUD:

Give me the keys!

HELEN:

You're not going to drive!

BUD:

It's my goddamn car!

HELEN:

It's our goddamn car!

BUD:

Give me the keys.

HELEN:

No.

Bud hesitates, then makes a rush for his wife, but

she's too quick and runs to the other side of the car.

Frustrated, he begins to run around the car like a

madman, trying to catch her. Finally, when he gets

close, she darts off, sprinting across the parking lot.

FRANK:

I think I'll warm up the car.

OVERVIEW - CITY

Cold, dark, dangerous, but somehow looking quite

appealing after a week in paradise.

INT. CAR - NIGHT

The trio, looking road-weary, is parked in front

of Jack's building. It is very late.

FRANK:

That takes care of this week. The tenth we

got the Sheraton, the sixteenth we're

at the Capri.

JACK:

The tenth's out.

FRANK:

What?

JACK:

I can't make the tenth.

FRANK:

What do you mean?

JACK:

I mean maybe you should check with us before you

go off and book us a month in advance.

FRANK:

Be reasonable, Jack.

JACK:

I play two hundred nights a year with you, Frank.

How much more reasonable you expect me to be?

Jack gets out of the car. Frank shakes his head in

exasperation, then looks to Susie.

FRANK:

How about you? Got a Bar Mitzvah

this weekend?

SUSIE:

(distracted)

Huh?

FRANK:

Forget it.

INT. JACK'S APARTMENT

Jack lets himself in and closes the door quietly.

In the darkness he can make out Nina and Eddie,

curled up on the couch, asleep. Above them,

hung carefully on a string, are some paper letters:

"WELCOME HOME."

INT. LOUNGE

In a lounge whols basic decor makes abundant use of

several historical eras but which might best be described

as Modern Pilgrim, Jack, Susie and Frank perform

"Feelings," while waiters in huge Paul Revere hats pass

in and out of view.

SUSIE:

Feelings ... Wo wo wo ... Feelings

... Wo wo wo ... Feelings ...

KITCHEN:

Jack, Frank and Susie exit the lounge to applause.

SUSIE:

I can't sing it anymore.

FRANK:

What?

SUSIE:

That song. I can't sing it anymore.

I'm gonna get sick.

FRANK:

What're you talking about? They

love it.

SUSIE:

I'm gonna throw up, Frank. I mean it.

Let's drop it for the ten o'clock, okay?

FRANK:

(as to a child)

Susie. It's one more show. One

more time. That's all.

SUSIE:

And two more times tomorrow night, and two more

times the next night, and the next night and the

next night and the next night. Frank, I can't

sing that f***ing song anymore!

She's yelling. The kitchen workers are glancing over.

Jack studies her as she tries to calm herself.

SUSIE:

(continuing)

I need some air.

EXT. HOTEL

A few minutes later. Jack comes out of the hotel and

sees Susie pacing.

He sits down and watches her for a moment.

JACK:

You're gonna wear down those

heels if you don't give it a rest.

She stops.

JACK:

(continuing)

Relax. We'll drop the song.

SUSIE:

Guess I got a little scattered.

JACK:

It's a shitty song.

Susie nods and looks up at the glittering hotel.

SUSIE:

How do you do it? Every night?

JACK:

Practice.

(pause)

There are worse songs, you know.

Not many, but a few.

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